


Chocolate Chip Pancakes

by YoYossarian



Series: Outside Looking In [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoYossarian/pseuds/YoYossarian
Summary: Normal friends don’t make pancakes alone in each others’ kitchens at 7 AM on a Saturday, but that’s Scott and Tessa for you. Weirdos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, like many of you I'm very surprised and a little embarrassed to be writing RPF, but here we are...

It’s first thing on a Saturday morning, barely 7AM, when Jordan fishes her keys out of her purse and quietly unlocks the front door to her sister’s condo. The visit was a surprise and long overdue; they hadn’t seen enough of each other since Tessa’s move to Montreal eight months earlier.

Tessa has no idea she’s coming. Jordan had casually inquired about her schedule when they’d chatted earlier in the week and there are no training sessions on the agenda today. This knowledge makes Jordan absolutely sure that her baby sister is crashed out in bed; no one would ever accuse Tessa of being a morning person.

Jordan shuts the door softly behind her, balancing a small weekend bag and a large coffee intended to lure her sister out from under the covers. She slips off her shoes and tiptoes around the corner into the living room where the furniture and decor scream Tessa, tidy and uncluttered with cream colored walls. Everything is going according to plan when she’s stopped in her tracks by movement in her peripheral vision. Jordan turns and freezes.

There’s a _man_ in Tessa’s kitchen, a shirtless man with a muscular back and a shock of tousled dark hair. He’s hovering in front of the stove, wielding a spatula and humming softly to himself. It smells, now that she notices, like pancakes.

Tessa hasn’t mentioned anything about a boyfriend or even a guy she’s interested in, so who is he? A one-night stand? Maybe, but that’s not really her sister’s style. When pressed Tessa insists that there is no room in their “two-year plan” for dating; she doesn’t even know where she’d find the time to meet someone, much less commit to a relationship. She’s happy, she’s not worried about it; there’s plenty of time for all of that _after_ she and Scott retire.

That’s when it hits her.

“Scott?”

He jumps and jerks around, eyes wide, spatula held out in front of him like a weapon. It takes him a second to recognize her.

“Jesus, Jordan, you scared the shit out of me,” he hisses, lowering the spatula and running one hand through his thick hair. “Hi.”

She’s only seen Scott once or twice since the move to Montreal and the months have been good to him. He’s in dire need of a haircut, but she can’t help notice the definition in his chest and stomach is back in full force; it’s been a couple years since he looked quite so fit.

“What are you doing here?” He asks after a few moments of silence, glancing over to the bedroom door, which is closed. “T didn’t mention that you’d be in town.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies, raising an eyebrow and motioning to the bag still slung over her shoulder. “I’m here to surprise Tessa.”

She waits a beat, and they stand, staring at each other, before he’s saved by the smell of a burning pancake and spins back towards the stove to slide it out of the pan and directly into the trash.

“I’m making pancakes,” he answers vaguely, glancing back over his shoulder at her before he ladles fresh batter into the pan. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, I could go for a pancake or two,” she grins at his back.

“Coming right up,” he says. “Coffee’s on if you’re interested. Pull up a chair.”

She declines his offer of coffee, instead sinking into a kitchen chair and indulging in the vanilla latte she’d brought along for Tessa as she watches him move around the kitchen. He clearly comfortable in the space, like he belongs there. And maybe, it occurs to Jordan, he does.

\--

Scott and Tessa have always been fiercely protective of their partnership and of each other, wrapped together in an impenetrable little bubble of their own making. She’s respects, but honestly has never fully understood their relationship; it is, has always been, impossible to describe and at a certain point they’d stopped trying to help others understand.

Jordan and Tessa are close, even for sisters, but Scott is in a league all his own. Growing up, their parents always made a conscious effort to encourage them to cultivate interests and define themselves outside of their intense partnership; to an extent, it worked. Their personalities are polar opposites and their off-ice hobbies vary, but Jordan knows their mothers still worry about how, when it’s all over, they’ll adjust to being Tessa and Scott instead of two halves of a whole.

Jordan has always worked to view their interactions through a unique lens, an effort that amounts to Olympic-level mental gymnastics. This certainly isn’t the first time she has walked in on what would be considered an intimate situation if it were anyone other than Tessa and Scott. They’re so physically and mentally in sync that family and friends have been forced to rethink the definition of normal when it comes to their relationship. Normal friends don’t look at each other, whisper to each other, reach for each other the way Tessa and Scott always have and still do. Normal friends don’t make pancakes alone in each others’ kitchens at 7 AM on a Saturday, but that’s Scott and Tessa for you. Weirdos.

\--

They make quiet, casual conversation across the kitchen as he finishes making breakfast. She’s _thisclose_ to filing away his surprise presence in her sister’s kitchen as another incomprehensible TessaScott thing, when he slides a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and fuck her if that isn’t a bite mark on his hip, visible just above the band of his low-riding Skate Canada sweatpants.

“Thanks,” she chokes out, averting her eyes. Her brain is suddenly flooded with unwelcome and intrusive images about how exactly he ended up with that mark right there. He gives her a look, but doesn’t seem to know what she’s noticed; maybe he doesn’t even know it’s there.

“No problem,” he says, sitting down across from her with a mug of coffee and pancakes of his own. They’re quiet for a minute as they eat and Jordan mentally comes to terms with the fact that maybe this relationship isn’t quite as nebulous as they’ve convinced everyone.

“Scott Moir,” she starts, setting down her fork and catching his eye.

“Jordan Virtue,” he mimics, grinning at her from behind his coffee.

“I’m not sure you understand the definition of platonic.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jordan and Tessa drink wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to be a one shot, but so many of you wonderful people left reviews asking for a follow up that this sorta spilled out. It’s entirely un-beta’d, so my mistakes are my own and I know it doesn’t flow super well, so I do plan to clean it up sometime soon. In the meantime, hope you enjoy!

Scott quirks an eyebrow at her comment and gives a non-committal _hmm_ , but doesn’t take the bait, so Jordan lets it go because she is a good sister (quite possibly the greatest sister). They lapse back into casual conversation about her work and his cousin’s wedding and when they’re both done eating, he stands to clear the table and she purposefully checks the time on her phone to avoid staring at the mark on his hip.

Jordan watches as he dutifully tidies the kitchen, slides a plate of pancakes into the oven to keep warm, and sets an empty mug next to the coffee pot.

“For T,” he tells her, gesturing, as if they’d be for anyone else.

“Speaking of my lovely sister, it’s almost 8,” Jordan announces. “Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty.”

Scott snorts and flashes her a grin.

“Good luck with that one,” he says, drying his hands on a dish towel. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He shrugs into a faded Leafs sweatshirt left hanging over the back of the couch, swipes his keys and phone off the counter, and gives her a little wave as he heads out the door. Jordan has never seen his place, but knows he lives on a different floor of the same building. When they were planning the move, Tessa had gone on and on about how it was so wonderful that he’d be so close, how it’d make everything in their lives so much easier. Jordan had assumed at the time that she’d meant that it’d be convenient to carpool to the rink, gym, and airport; now she needs to decide whether to press her sister on the topic.

\-----  
_November 2015_

“So when are you guys going to make an announcement?” Jordan asks as she peers over Tessa’s shoulder at the computer screen and nurses a glass of wine. They’re having a girls’ night in at Tessa’s London cottage, perched on stools at the kitchen island pouring over condo listings.

“We’re thinking February,” Tessa replies, glancing up from the screen. “So two years before PyeongChang. But Marie and Patch are going to give their other teams a heads up before that.”

“And you officially start training with them in June?”

“Yeah, but we’ve already started ramping up our gym time on tour. It’s been a while since that’s been a focus for us and it’s kicking our butts,” Tessa grins, turning back to the screen.

It’s been a focus for _us_. It’s kicking _our_ butts. Tessa, Jordan notices, has slipped easily back into the _we, us, our_ headspace, probably had never fully shed it, not that she’d mention that to Tessa who had spent the last eighteen months doggedly (and successfully) defining herself as an individual off the ice.

“It’s kicking both of your butts?” Jordan pokes, sticking her tongue out to make sure her sister knows she’s teasing and Tessa laughs softly.

“Well, it may be kicking Scott’s butt a little harder than it’s kicking mine, but we both still have a long way to go.”

And that’s what Jordan was looking for, the balance of Tessa the individual and Tessa the half-of-a-whole, the ability (and willingness) to consider herself apart from her partner, at least in the comfort of her own home in the company of her sister. This, more than anything else, is what Jordan is the most proud of when she considers everything that Tessa has accomplished since Sochi.

Jordan loves Scott. Not, of course, in the way that Tessa loves Scott because that love remains baffling and undefinable, but as another brother. The Virtue and Moir families have been tangled together since the 90s and so she knows better than most that Scott didn’t navigate the post-Sochi hiatus well, she heard about and once even witnessed the self-destructive behavior that kept his mother (and eventually even his father and brothers) up at night. The physical toll was a little more subtle, but still noticeable; he had more to bounce back from than Tessa did.

“It’s kicking his butt so hard that he caved and is just letting you run with this whole condo thing?”

Tessa snorts.

“Please, you’ve seen his past apartments; he’s just finally acknowledged that he’s way better off letting me handle this stuff. Ooh, look at this one!”

Jordan leans forward and they pour through the pictures of the condo together. It’s open and airy and in the right neighborhood, within walking distance of coffee shops and restaurants and boutiques and just a short drive to the rink.

“This place is perfect. If there’s a second unit available in this building, I think we’re set.”

\-----

Jordan taps gently on the closed bedroom door before easing it open and stepping into the room. The morning sunlight is peeking in around the closed blinds and, as expected, Tessa is still snuggled up under a fluffy white duvet, dead to the world. Jordan laughs to herself and then, abandoning all plans for a gentle wake up call, leaps into the king sized bed.

“Tessa, Tessa, Tessa, Tessa, time to wake uppppp,” she chants, clambering over to straddle the lump that is her sister.

Tessa’s eyes fly open and she sits half up in bed, groggy and blinking, but a smile is already spreading across her face.

“Jord, is that really you?” She asks, reaching up and pulling Jordan down into a tight hug.

“Who else would it be?” Jordan laughs, wrapping her arms around her sister. “Surprise girls’ weekend! Hope you didn’t have any plans.”

Eventually Jordan lets go and Tessa climbs out of bed, clad in an oversized Blue Jays t-shirt, and rubs at her green eyes. Her long dark hair is tousled, but the wide smile doesn’t leave her face as Jordan prattles off an itinerary for the weekend that includes pedicures, boutique hopping, and a visit to a nearby wine bar.

“That all sounds incredible, but can we start with breakfast?” Tessa asks. “And coffee. All of the coffee.”

“Funny you should ask,” Jordan starts. “Scott was making pancakes in your kitchen when I let myself in this morning. I scared the crap out of him when I snuck in, but he set a plate aside for you before he left.”

Tessa, to her credit, rolls with the punches.

“Sounds great!” she says, without so much as a flicker of hesitation or embarrassment, and if it weren’t for that bite mark, Jordan would swear that she’s misread the entire situation. Maybe he does just come over to make breakfast; maybe he was out of flour or eggs or milk… But no, she saw the damn thing and she’s not sure of much, but she is sure that there’s absolutely no way he’s dating (or screwing) anyone else. There’s something going on between them, something that wasn’t there before their move to Montreal, and she feels strangely determined to draw it out of her sister before the weekend is up.

—-

Shopping is thirsty work and by the time they finally drop off their purchases (two new pairs of patterned cigarette pants for Tessa and a pair of gray suede ankle boots for Jordan) and head back out, they’re both ready to indulge. Le Vin Papillon is a cozy wine bar on Rue Notre Dame that’s within walking distance of Tessa’s building even this late in the winter. Jordan has resisted the urge to ask about her sister’s relationship status because they honestly have a ton to catch up on (Jordan is reading the Nightingale and Tessa just finished The Little Paris Bookshop) and there’s also a small part of her that is waiting until Tessa has at least one glass of wine under her belt.

An hour later they’re tucked into a corner table laughing over a near empty bottle of Merlot and considering another half when Jordan manages to upset her glass, sloshing the dregs of wine into her lap. She quickly blots at the spreading stain, knows the napkin won’t do much good; she and Tessa are both clumsy, and they’ve both dumped enough wine on themselves over the years to know exactly what to do in that situation.

“Well,” Tessa laughs. “ I guess that answers the question for us. One more glass at home? You can throw your jeans right in the wash.”

They settle their bill and head back to Tessa’s condo arm in arm. Inside and divested of her puffy winter jacket, Jordan strips off her jeans, attacks the stain, and throws them into the washer. And since it’s wasteful to run a full cycle for a single pair of jeans and the hamper is sitting right there and she is the greatest sister, she flips open the lid to throw in a few of Tessa’s things, too. Except sitting on top of the mound of dirty clothes are crumbled boxer briefs and a familiar long sleeved white thermal about three sizes too big to belong to her sister. And if she wasn’t sure before, she’s sure now.

—-

_October 2014_

It was dumb luck really, sheer stupid luck that _she of all people_ just happened to be driving by at the exact same moment Scott came tripping out of a dive bar at 11 PM on a Tuesday. And even then, the only reason she noticed him at all is because he nearly stumbled right into the street in front of her car.

Jordan slammed on her brakes, unnecessarily as it turned out because he didn’t _quite_ make it off the curb, but it was terrifying all the same, doubly so when she recognized him. Pulling over, she threw the car into park and jumped out.

“What the hell,” she shouted at him, heart still racing from both the near miss. “I could have killed you!”

But when he looked up at her from the cold sidewalk with flat, glazed eyes and a split lip and absolutely reeking of alcohol, her stomach twisted and her anger evaporated.

“Are you okay? What happened to your lip?” She asked, forcing a calm she didn’t feel into her voice and crouching next to him. “Who are you here with?”

He blinked at her, but pressed his lips together and didn’t answer. There was blood on his chin and on his white thermal shirt where it’d dripped down; he wasn’t wearing a jacket. She looked around, but no one had followed him out of the bar.

“Come on, I think you’ve had enough for tonight. I’ll give you a ride to your parents’.”

At that he shook his head slowly and tried to get up, but wobbled and plopped right back down on his ass with an _oomph_.

“Fine, not your parents’, but I’m not leaving you here.” Jordan stood and offered him a hand, but he shook his head again and didn’t meet her eyes and instead shoved his hand deep into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out, of all things, a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

She watched, dumbfounded, as he lit one, shoved the pack back into his pocket, and took a deep drag, sitting stubbornly all the while on the cold pavement with a split lip and without saying a word. It was the silence more than anything that scared her - Scott was many things, but quiet was not one of them - and so she called the only person she knew could help (and who could be convinced to never, ever tell her sister about this mess).

“‘Lo?” Charlie’s voice is rough with sleep.

“Hey, Charlie,” Jordan says, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. “It’s Jordan Virtue...”

There’s a muffled shuffling on the other end and it’s quiet for a moment before he’s back and sounding much more alert. He’s both a father and a fireman, she remembers, accustomed to late night wake up calls, and definitely the best person for this situation.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is steady and it slaps Jordan square across the face that on some level he’s been _expecting_ this call, or at least one like it. “What happened?”

“Scott’s okay,” she rushes to answer the unasked question and waits as Charlie lets out a long breath. “I ran into him downtown and he’s not in great shape, so he definitely shouldn’t be alone, but I think maybe your mom doesn’t need to see him like this...”

“Shit. Where are you? I’m on my way,” he says. She can hear him fumbling with his car keys.

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll bring him to you,” she says. “See you in twenty.”

By the time she hangs up, he’s finished his cigarette and she’s done playing games.

“Scott Moir,” she says sharply and he twitches at the sound, but doesn’t look up at her. “I’m going to drive you to Charlie’s, but if you don’t get your ass off the sidewalk and into the car right this second, I’m also going to call Tessa and tell her about this...” she gestures vaguely at him, at the dirty windows of the bar he’d stumbled out of, “...bullshit you’re up to.”

And she can tell he’s listening because his shoulders, still broad and strong even eight months after Sochi, tense and she can see the muscles twitch under the fitted thermal and she can see his jaw tighten.

“And we both know that she’d be down here in a second and we also both know that it would destroy her to see you like this,” she continues, waving her phone around so he knows she means business (although calling Tessa right now, or even telling her about this mess at all, ever, is the very last thing Jordan wants to do). But the threat is enough to get him to obstinately thrust one hand up at her, though he’s still avoiding her eye contact, and she grabs it and hauls him to his feet and half carries his drunk ass to her car.

Scott, once she’s managed to wrestle him into the passenger seat, leans his head against the window and doesn’t say a word the entire drive. Jordan keeps glancing over to see if he’s passed out, but his eyes, reflected in the window, are open. He looks so lost and empty and curled into himself, that she half wishes he would yell or puke or something other than just stare out the window with _that_ look in his eyes.

The drive is quick, there aren’t many cars on the road between London and Lucan this late on a weeknight, and Charlie is standing in his driveway when she pulls up. She puts the car in park, gets out, and he wraps her up in a tight hug before walking around to the passenger side and opening the door.

“He said anything?” Charlie asks, glancing up at her, and Jordan knows that this isn’t the first time.

“Nothing.”

Charlie sighs, grimaces, and then leans down and hauls Scott out of the car, wrapping an arm around his younger brother’s waist for support.

“Thanks for calling and for bringing him over,” Charlie says, giving her a terse nod. “Tess know?”

”No, and I don’t think she needs to.”

He gives her a thin, resigned smile.

“Come on, Scottie,” he says. “Let’s get you inside.”

Jordan waits until they disappear into the house before climbing back into her car and driving home. She doesn’t tell Tessa.

—-

Jordan opts to waste water and run the washing machine with just her stained jeans. Ten minutes later, she and Tessa are cozied up on opposite ends of the sofa facing each other, makeupless with their hair up and each nursing a generous glass of wine. She’s waited long enough.

“So when were you planning to tell me about this whole sleeping with Scott Moir thing?” Jordan asks, looking pointedly at her sister. “And before you deny it, I _know_ that those are his clothes in your hamper _and_ he was making breakfast shirtless in your kitchen this morning _and_ the bite mark on his hip is not subtle. At all.”

Across the couch Tessa has frozen and Jordan can tell that her sister is about to snap into interview mode, so she leans forward, grabs Tessa’s free hand, and smiles gently.

“Don’t go all press conference on me. I didn’t mean to come off as judgemental. It’s just that I’m your big sister and I love you and I want to know that you’re happy.”

Tessa squeezes her fingers and her expression relaxes.

“You don’t have to worry, Jord,” she says softly. “I am happy, we’re happy with this… arrangement.”

“Arrangement?”

“No distractions, that’s what we promised each other when we decided to come back. But there are only so many things a girl can sacrifice in the name of a comeback and I didn’t think that sex needed to be one of them. I don’t need it per say, but I enjoy it and while the vibrator you sent for my birthday is phenomenal, truly A plus, it’s not the same.” She rattles it off matter-of-factly; Tessa is nothing if not practical. 

“As what, Tess?” Jordan pries, taking a sip of wine and raising one sculpted eyebrow at her sister over the glass.

“As… sex,” she finally answers. “Well, not just any sex. It is really a fantastic vibrator. As sex with Scott specifically, I mean. You wouldn’t believe what that man can do with his tongue.”

And there it is. Jordan _knew_ it. And maybe it was a little weird because she’s always thought of Scott like another brother, but she and Tessa have always spoken openly about sex and if her sister’s love life now included Scott Moir, then she was just going to have to get used to hearing about it.

“So you’re not together, like...dating together?” Jordan clarifies.

“It’s a lot of things, but it’s not dating,” Tessa offers after a moment’s contemplation. Jordan raises her eyebrows, waits.

“Scott and I have always spent a lot of time together,” she says. “It’s normal. And before you say it, I mean _our_ normal, not _normal_ normal. He’s a part of me. We sat down and talked about it and mutually agreed to expand our partnership to include this new - and yes, new since Montreal, so don’t look at me with your skeptical face - facet.”

“And after the Olympics?”

“We’re taking it one day at a time, so don’t tell anyone please, especially not mom. Danny and Charlie don’t even know. This is working for us and we’re happy and we’re winning and it’s honestly been pretty fantastic.”

“My lips are sealed,” Jordan promises and she’s known Tessa long enough to know when her sister is telling the truth. This arrangement or whatever they’re calling it makes her happy and if Tessa is happy and Scott is happy, then she is happy. And she doesn’t think she’ll ever understand exactly how their funny little relationship operates, but she doesn’t need to understand it to cheer them on.


End file.
